


To Gotham, With Love

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Sickfic, The Joker is at it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Too many words and Jason about keels over from the coughing fit. The pressure in his head blinds him and he slumps even harder against the wall.Yup, definitely not living up to the Red Hood name tonight.Behind him, the officer sighs. “This is completely against regulations, but is there somewhere I can take you? An urgent care clinic? Some hidden hospital for vigilantes?”Jason wheezes a small laugh. “If I took you there, it wouldn’t be secret anymore.”





	To Gotham, With Love

**Author's Note:**

> I got tapped as a pinch hitter for the JayTim SSE this year, so here's the second of the two fics I wrote! This one is for @imbatwayne over on Tumblr. Enjoy!
> 
> Beta read by clarityhiding (@themandylion)

Jason sits curled up in his armchair, a warm afghan wrapped over his shoulders and a steaming cup of hot tea sitting on the side table in easy reach. In the corner stands the tall Christmas tree he and Tim struggled to put up the week before, botching the trimming job to tame some of the branches. Soft lights twinkle gently, and a crooked star sits at the top.

The apartment smells like pine. Or it would if Jason’s nose wasn’t so stuffed up that he can’t smell a damn thing anymore.

His ribs ache from his most recent bout of coughing. All around, he feels miserable. But there’s no rest for the wicked, not when they’re all running on fumes with the Joker still on the loose. It’s Christmas Eve and sleep is a luxury even Bruce Wayne can’t afford right now.

The entire city is in a state of near panic, which is saying something considering how jaded Gothamites are. The Joker is intent on causing as much chaos as possible, leaving bombs wrapped up as festive packages in random places, a schtick he’s done before and with great effectiveness. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, but there never is with that deranged clown. 

What’s worse, the Joker seems to be out for blood this time. The news headlines are still filled with stories about yesterday’s mall massacre. Jason has had to turn off the TV, his own emotions of anger, rage, and a deeply rooted sense of helplessness choking him almost as badly as the shit dripping down the back of his throat and into his lungs. 

At least it’s not blood. He knows what that feels like, _tastes_ like.

Jason sneezes hard and his world rocks as his ears try to make sense of the pressure change. This is just what he doesn’t need, not now. So much for his cold and flu meds doing their goddamned job. He’s getting worse, not better.

It’s impressive that, somehow, he’s managed to keep his illness hidden, although it’s distinctly possible everyone else is just too busy to notice. Tim hasn’t been back to their apartment for three days now and Jason is babying himself along, managing to run basic patrols and dropping everything at a moment’s notice to go wherever his significant other orders him to. Bruce may not want Jason anywhere near the Joker, but Tim has no such qualms. Besides, defusing bombs is one of _his_ specialties after all.

So is setting them, but he tries to keep that impulse in check for the sake of domestic bliss. Besides, when Tim gets in the mood for a big bang, he lets him go all out.

Tim.

Jason smiles a little sappily, safe and secure in the knowledge no one is here to see him. Tim took Darcy, their black and white American bulldog, with him to the Manor when he left a few days ago. At least there he’ll get a chance to run and be let outside regularly, even if he’s a massive baby about the cold. Mutt even has a sweater. Tim got it for the dog, as well as a matching one for him. He fails to see the humor in this, but it makes Tim happy, so he wears it.

Like right now. The forest-green sweater is a size too big, but Jason knows this had to be on purpose as Tim doesn’t let little details like that slip past him. He enjoys pulling the cuffs over his hands to help keep them warm.

Okay, so he loves the fucking sweater. Sue him.

His tea is finished and he’s half asleep when the comm in his ear comes to life.

“What?” Jason all but growls. He winces and clears his throat, hoping to pass the thickness off from sleep rather than phlegm.

“I found another package,” Tim announces without preamble.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” Jason yawns and rubs at his gummy eyes. His head is throbbing from sinus pressure.

“Only the best for you.”

“Send me the address, I’m on my way.”

Knowing Tim, it won’t be too far, some place he can get to within fifteen minutes or less. He hauls himself up and out of his chair, lurching as his inner ear protests the change. It takes a moment to regain his balance and when he does, Jason feels cold sweat beading on his forehead.

This is just going to be so much fucking fun.

~*~*~

The package looks the same as every other one Jason has defused, brightly wrapped and sporting a big shiny bow. He and the GCPD bomb squad definitely have their work cut out for them.

There’s an officer on the scene already, one who scowls as she stands watch while the Red Hood gets to work. Gordon must have personally sent a word to this gal as she gave him no flack whatsoever when he arrived in the dimly lit alley.

Which is just fine and dandy with Jason because his nose is a goddamned faucet and he’s coughing again, the bitter cold air not doing one wit of good for his aching lungs. Thanks to his nose, he’s without his trademark helmet, which, now that the thinks about it, probably is why the officer isn’t giving him shit.

The big bad Red Hood can’t possibly be a man with a runny nose.

“How did this thing even get found?” he mutters as he assesses the package.

“Homeless guy flagged down my car,” the officer replies. She must have good hearing. “Showed me where to look and then ran away.”

Jason notices a distinct lack of a second officer with her. GCPD must be stretched thin too. Or else her partner was one of Gotham’s finest who got mowed down by a machine gun yesterday at that mall. Fifteen dead, last he heard, and dozens more injured, including a few kids.

But he doesn’t ask. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s a vigilante and one who has crossed that line before. Right now, his presence is tolerated because he has a useful skill set.

“They tend to do that,” Jason says neutrally.

The package appears to be the same as all the others but that doesn’t stop him from being careful. He knows what happens when you make assumptions and with this, he and the GCPD officer could end up very much dead. Or in his case, dead again.

Not this time.

Once he finally has the package open, he frowns as the bomb comes into sight. Unlike the others, this one has a timer. The stupid things are usually only there for dramatic effect as it ratchets up the tension in an action flick, but Jason’s pulse starts to race as he flashes back to another timer attached to a different bomb in a much different place, one that was much warmer than this armpit of Hell he calls home.

Not this time, he reminds himself. He has so much to live for now and Tim would probably do something insanely stupid like try to clone him or drop his corpse in a Lazarus Pit. No one in his family would honor his final wishes that he’s left with Babs, that he be cremated and his ashes scattered to the far corners of the Earth.

Assholes.

Jason ignores the timer and gets to work. Five minutes later, he has some more C4 to add to his growing collection.

“Done,” he announces and stands. The vertigo is worse this time and he slaps a hand against the grimy wall to brace himself or eat the slushy ground. He coughs hard and grimaces at just how thick and wet it sounds.

The officer nods and calls it in. “I know this is a stupid question,” she says when she’s done, “but are you alright? You don’t sound like you should be out here. At all.”

“I’ve got about as little choice in the matter as you, Officer.”

“You’re a vigilante. You could be sitting at home if you wanted to be.”

Jason sighs. She’s one of those. Someone with a grudge. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that. And yet, here I am.”

Too many words and he about keels over from the coughing fit. The pressure in his head blinds him and he slumps even harder against the wall.

Yup, definitely not living up to the Red Hood name tonight.

Behind him, the officer sighs. “This is completely against regulations, but is there somewhere I can take you? An urgent care clinic? Some hidden hospital for vigilantes?”

Jason wheezes a small laugh. “If I took you there, it wouldn’t be secret anymore.”

In his ear, the comm goes off again. “RR to Hood. You copy?”

Fuck. He doesn’t think he can hide this from Tim anymore. “Yeah, I’m here. Package secure.”

It sounds bad even to him.

“You sound horrible,” Tim replies after a long pause. “How long have you been sick? And don’t lie to me.”

Jason can just imagine the new asshole Tim’s about to rip him. “About three days.”

Tim starts swearing at him, long and creatively because he really has spent too much time around him. “Go home. We’ve got another package in your area, but I’ll call Nightwing.”

“Like fuck you’re gonna call him. If it’s close by, I can do it.” Somehow. He coughs again.

“Hood...”

“Red. Gimme the damned address. No more bodies. Not after yesterday.” No one else needs to drown in blood.

It does the trick. “Fine,” Tim replies, clearly displeased. “But this is the last time I’m calling you in tonight. I want a status update when you’re done, then you’d better be going right home. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

Jason would smirk if his face didn’t hurt so much as Tim gives him the address. “You’re such a mother hen.”

“Just remember you’re the one who turned into an actual chicken.”

This is something Jason tries hard to forget. “Thanks for that wonderful reminder, babe. Don’t fall asleep in your coffee.”

“Love you too, you damn nerd. Now get moving.” Tim disconnects and the comm returns to standby mode.

Sighing hurts too. Jason takes as deep a breath as possible and slowly turns around.

The officer is still in the alley with him, frowning even harder than before while blocking his exit. “There’s another one?” she asks.

“Yeah. Bomb squad is still busy so if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

She doesn’t budge. “Where?”

Jason has to admire her determination. Or he would if the pressure in his head wasn’t giving him such a stabbing headache. It’s like an ice pick being jabbed repeatedly into his eye.  

“None of your business,” he snaps but the officer gets right up in his face and pokes him hard in the chest. It’s such a surprising move that he stills instantly.

“You listen to me, Red Hood. I shouldn’t even be contemplating this, but there’s a madman terrorizing _my_ city and right now, helping you is the only way I can do a damned thing besides sit in my patrol car and wait for orders. So get your ass outta this alley, into that car, and I’ll drive wherever you need to go.”

Jason stands up straight and stares down at the police officer invading his personal bubble. She’s on the tall side for a woman, her dark hair braided back and mostly hidden beneath her standard issue cap. Her GCPD winter jacket has her name embroidered on the breast. _A. Cisneros._

He wonders what the A stands for.

“Officer Cisneros,” he says in a low tone that is barely a step above Batman’s growl. “I’d take that finger back if you wanna keep it.”

Her dark eyes flash. “You can barely stand, let alone walk. Stop being such a pendejo and get in the car.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bitchy?”

Her grin could cut glass. “All the time.”

~*~*~

Jason finds the experience of sitting in the front seat of a police car to be slightly off-putting, but that could be because his stomach is starting to protest all the snot draining down his throat. It hasn’t escaped his notice that his breathing has a rattle to it.

Yeah, he’s fucked up this time. He needs a doctor.

“You awake over there?” Officer Cisneros asks, checking on him.

“Tryin’ not to be.”

“Pobrecito. We’re here.”

Jason blinks slowly but his head keeps spinning and the car keeps moving. “Fuck.”

He takes a deep breath, coughs, and tries to open the car door.

“You are absolutely ridiculous.” Officer Cisneros gets out and walks around the car to help him. “Are all of you guys like this when you’re sick?”

“Batman’s worse,” Jason replies, sniffing and rubbing his nose against the back of his glove. It’s sore and chapped and could probably give Rudolph a run for his money. “He’s had to be sedated a few times.”

“That does not surprise me.” The officer wraps an arm around Jason’s back to steady them as they enter the building.

The warmth hits him first. Thank god, but his lungs still protest the abrupt change in temperature. Contrary bastards.

He shrugs off the assistance and scowls when he sees the staircase. There is no elevator. “I think Red is tryin’ ta kill me.”

“If that’s who you were talking to before, then probably.”

Ten flights of stairs. Jason shakes his head. “I can’t do that. Come on, we’re takin’ a short cut.”

The package is on the roof of all places, but this wouldn’t be the first one the Joker or his lackeys have left in an out of the way place. How did Tim find out about this one? Probably someone sneaking a cigarette where they shouldn’t be.

His lungs protest the change in air temperature again, but Officer Cisneros makes up for the discomfort as she looks a little pale when Jason shoots his grapple upwards into the darkness.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Feel free to take the stairs.” Jason has no doubt she’s planning to stay with him the entire time. Stubborn woman.

The officer is clearly torn but gamely takes that last step toward Jason and wraps her arms firmly around his waist. “You’d better not drop us.”

“Hang on tight.” He grips his grapple gun with both hands, not trusting it with just one tonight.

Under different circumstances, Jason would very much enjoy the little squeak the police officer lets escape as they glide upwards. As it is, her hold on him is painful and he’s pretty sure she wants to punt him into next week when he tells her she has to climb the rest of the way because he can’t swing her up and over the edge of the roof.

He barely makes it himself and for his efforts, he’s laid out on his back relearning how to breathe for a solid minute.

“This looks just like the other one,” Officer Cisneros comments, kneeling beside, but not touching, the package. “Even has the same shiny purple bow.”

“There are two colors I’ve learned to utterly despise since I started this gig,” Jason says as he rolls over and slowly rises to his knees and then his feet. The vertigo is still there but it’s manageable. “Lime green and purple.”

“Why lime green?”

Jason doesn’t answer and starts his assessment of the package. It appears identical to all the others he’s seen. The same wrapping paper, the same stupid bow. Unwrapping everything to get to the box underneath is a trial in patience as he doesn’t want to jostle anything.

His hands shake the entire time.

Officer Cisneros kneels across from him. “Can I help at all?”

“Maybe,” he offers. “I just need to go slow.”

Deep breaths are next to impossible and shallow breathing causes his heart rate to increase more than it needs to. Calm down. He needs to calm down. Mind over matter. Push past the pressure and snot in his head and heaviness in his lungs. The fever that sends shivers down his spine one moment and makes him sweat the next.

He may need a chest X-ray when this is all said and done.

“Whatever you say,” the officer replies, her gaze intent on each move he makes while periodically sweeping the empty roof.

Up here, it’s a hell of a lot colder and the wind blows right through the winter uniform Jason is wearing. His is of high quality, Bat-approved materials, so he can only imagine what Officer Cisneros is feeling right now. She doesn’t complain, doesn’t make a sound.

He decides she’s not too bad. Gotham makes people tough and with her attitude, she’s either going to go far or piss off the wrong person by telling them they’re an idiot in at least two languages.

Ever so gently, Jason picks up the bomb, wishing he dared to close his eyes against the red lights of the flashing timer. Without even being asked, Officer Cisneros flips the box over to give him a surface to work on.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. Alfred made sure he has at least some manners.

She nods silently.

Just as before, his fingers move almost on their own, if a little slower and with more pauses to calm the shakes. Sweat drips down his brow and onto his mask, beading underneath. The spirit gum should hold it in place. That shit can withstand a full dive into Gotham Harbor.

When he’s done, the blasting cap is in one hand and the chunk of C4 is in the other.

“I should make you give that to me,” Officer Cisneros says matter-of-factly.

“You should,” Jason replies. “But we both know what the evidence lockers are like downtown.”

The comm in his ear chimes. “Status check, Hood,” Tim says. He sounds distracted. He also sounds like he’s speaking through a wad of cotton.

Damn this shit is messing with his head. “Disabled,” he says, setting aside the blasting cap.

Officer Cisneros gives him a confused look before understanding dawns on her face.  

“Good. Go home.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Tim pauses, and Jason can almost feel his full attention falling on him. “Are you able to get home?”

“Maybe?” Definitely a maybe. Perhaps he can suck up to his GCPD tagalong and at least get dropped off within a few blocks. He can manage that much.

Jason coughs again and this time, he slumps forward as the ability to even breathe is swept away under the onslaught of pain. His lungs burn from the lack of air and he chokes as fluid rises up.

In his ear, Tim is shouting. “Hood! Jason! Dammit, what’s going on?”

But it’s Officer Cisneros who slaps him hard on the back and maneuvers behind him to attempt a Heimlich to remove the obstruction in his throat. “Dammit, Red Hood! I did not drive your sick ass around tonight just to see you kick it from a ton of snot. You need a hospital!”

Her hands are tight under his diaphragm as she thrusts them upward. It helps but not enough. Jason starts to see spots.

Tim must be able to hear her.  “Who’s with you? Jason!”

Jason coughs one more time and is able to spit something slick and slimy out onto the rooftop. He sucks in air like it’s going out of style, but it only triggers another coughing spell. The cold burns and his gloved fingers scramble against the rough grit of the rooftop.

Officer Cisneros forces him back upright. “Don’t you dare pass out on me, Hood!”

Tim’s shouts are almost incoherent at this point. Jason feebly raises a hand to his ear and removes his comm. He can’t speak. Not anymore.

The police officer takes it and holds it up to her ear. “I don’t know who I’m taking to, but this is Officer Alma Cisneros of the GCPD. I’m with the Red Hood and this moron is in bad shape. Liquid on the lungs kind of bad.”

Oh. The A stands for Alma. Jason could kick himself for the direction his brain goes but the spots are growing even as he manages another lungful of the cold night air.

A cool hand presses against his forehead. “Help is on the way, Hood,” Officer Cisneros tells him. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

He can’t. He’s done more than he should have, and his body has had enough. Jason slumps forward, succumbing to the darkness.

~*~*~

Jason wakes slowly, consciousness returning in bits and pieces that feels as though he’s swimming through molasses. There’s a warm weight against his side and a slow steady beeping pitched low in the background.

A heart monitor. Shit.

Opening his eyes, he blinks a few times as things are slow to come into focus. He’s in the bedroom he and Tim share at the Manor. When did he get here? Something is in his nose and he bats weakly at it.

“Knock it off, Jay,” Tim’s voice comes from his other side. “Your oxygen levels are finally stabilizing.”

He appears overhead and adjusts the cannula.

“Hi,” Jason says and grimaces. His voice sounds and feels like broken glass and gravel.

“Hey, yourself.” Tim leans over and kisses him lightly. “You gave us quite the scare.”

A heavy black-and-white head lands in his lap and Jason sees Darcy gazing up at him with sorrowful eyes. The big dog is even more of a space heater than him and it feels wonderful.

“Hi, boy.” He scratches a floppy ear and the dog whines in happiness, his tail thumping hard against his leg.

“Do you remember what happened?” Tim asks, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. He picks up a cup from the nightstand and places an ice chip in Jason’s mouth.

It feels wonderful as his memory slowly comes back. The bombs. His cough getting worse and worse as the night progressed. Officer Cisneros.

“Her name was Alma,” he finally says.

“Yes, it is.” Tim chuckles quietly. “After you passed out on her, she ripped you _and_ me new ones, in English and Spanish. And then when Dick got there, she started yelling at him.”

“Why? I didn’t think she cared for me all that much.” His voice sounds better and he opens his mouth again for another ice chip.

“Stress. A need to vent. I did some digging and discovered her partner is on life support at Gotham General. They were at the mall shooting the other day.”

“I knew it.” Wait a second. Jason narrows his eyes. “The other day? That was yesterday.”

Tim shakes his head. “You’ve been asleep for almost 24 hours, Jay. Slept right through Christmas.”

Oh. Jason clears his throat and it still hurts, but not as bad as before. “What about the Joker? Is he still...?”

“Alive? Barely. The GCPD found him not even an hour after Dick brought you back here. A rather intrepid detective pumped three slugs right into his chest. He’s also on life support, but in that ICU Arkham maintains for their higher risk inmates.”

Jason scowls. “Shame he’s not at General. It would be so easy to sneak in and take care of a massive problem.”

Tim shrugs, not bothered by his statement. He knows all too well Jason’s feelings about the Joker and how he still mourns the chance he’d had years ago to put an end to him but didn’t, all for the sake of his twisted revenge plot with Bruce. “You and half the GCPD right now,” he says neutrally. “Bruce is torn between staying here with you and monitoring Arkham. Probably a good thing you were asleep before. We may have gotten into a fight about it.”

This does not surprise Jason in the slightest. Tim is his staunchest ally, especially when it comes to the Joker. He may not want to pull that trigger himself, but he understands why Jason does.

Another part of his brain picks up on something Tim said earlier. “I slept through Christmas?”

“Most of it.” Tim yawns and Jason finally notice the dark smudges beneath his eyes. “Alfred and I were busy with you for quite a while, so no one felt like celebrating. You have pneumonia, by the way.”

That actually explains a lot. “Should you even be here, then?”

Tim with the missing spleen and touchy immune system. “I’ve been taking my vitamins and I already had my pneumonia vaccination this year. Flu shot too, remember?”

Yeah, Jason remembers. Tim made him get one too. The fucker hurt.

“Christmas is postponed, then?”

“Yep. At least until you don’t need the oxygen anymore and can make it to the bathroom by yourself and back. Those are Dr. Thompkins’ orders.”

Those are pretty standard orders around here, which, considering some of the injuries they get, taking a piss on your own can be a monumental achievement.

Jason yawns and coughs again. It still hurts but he can deal. “Then get your ass down here and go to sleep. I can wait a few days to give you your gift if you can.”

Tim huffs a small laugh and gives him another ice chip before he sets the cup aside and slips under the covers. “Not sure I want to wait after what happened to you, but your gift is still at home. It’s not something I want to give you in front of everyone.”

“Is it that dildo we found on Bad Dragon?” Jason asks, teasing on purpose to disguise the faint increase of his heartbeat. He knows about the jewelry box Tim has been hiding, having accidentally found it in a not-so-empty coffee can when he cleaned out the pantry a few months ago. The ring is simple, but stunning, and it still makes his breath catch when he thinks about. “Because I’d love to see the look on Bruce’s face if it is.”


End file.
